


You Drained My Heart (And Made a Spade)

by keiran_emrys



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Glomp Fest fic, M/M, On the Run, Reveal!fic, bit o' angst, h/c, shifting pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-07
Updated: 2012-05-07
Packaged: 2017-11-05 00:02:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/399686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keiran_emrys/pseuds/keiran_emrys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Desperate to keep his head and body intact, Merlin flees Camelot, Arthur and his Knights not far behind. But Arthur is willing to go to great lengths to get Merlin back with him, though not for the reasons anyone suspects.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Drained My Heart (And Made a Spade)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for bohemiabythesea as part of Glomp Fest 2012. I was so taken with your prompt, I got all these images in my mind, that it begged me to be written. I hope you like it. I had much fun (and hair pulling) writing it. ^-^
> 
> **Thank You:** Big thank you to niteshine for the wonderful beta. You were awesome about doing this on short notice bb, thank you for that. And thanks to Lily for the brainstorming. I owe a good part of this fic to her collaboration.

Two months before he and Arthur finally got their shit together and stopped pansy-footing around each other. One month before winter decided to rear her ugly head and cover Camelot in a thick blanket of snow. One week before he stopped cursing Arthur to the seventh circle of Hell and back. Today just happened to be the day that all of Merlin’s life went to shit. And it was his own damned fault.  
  
  
  
  
Everything started on your average, run-of-the-mill autumn day in Camelot. The sun was peeking through the clouds, the low hum of servants, knights, and townspeople filled the air of the city. A few birds flitted here and there hoping to snatch a small mouse or two to take back their nests. An angry sorceress was striding into the courtyard, knights and townspeople flying backward at a flick of her wrist. Unimpeded, she strode right up to the steps of the castle and addressed Arthur, who stood strong at the apparent threat and didn’t even flinch when she brandished a hand before him.  
  
“I will not rest until every last Pendragon is dead! The tyrannical reign of Uther is at an end. And you, Arthur Pendragon, will fall.”  
  
Meanwhile the Knights of Camelot vainly tried to stop her, but it was as if she was shielded from their insignificant weapons. They, and Arthur, could only watch as her eyes flashed yellow and power crackled around her like a storm.  
  
“ _Forbærne ácwele!_ ”  
  
A blue ball of fire erupted from the sorceress’s hands and flew straight for Arthur. Merlin didn’t even think, his hand coming up automatically, words from the Old Tongue falling from his lips and him not able to stop them. The fire ball slowed its course mere inches from the shocked face of the Prince Regent and flew back at the sorceress. In a matter of seconds, she was engulfed by the flames and rendered nothing more than a pile of soot.  
  
The entire court stood in shock, the quiet of the courtyard hanging heavy in the air. Merlin swallowed thickly. There was no way he could hide what he’d done, no way could his actions have gone unnoticed. The Prince, followed by everyone else, turned towards him. Their piercing eyes landing upon him like needles. The Prince took a step toward him. Merlin stumbled back, all too aware of the cold stone wall behind him and the unreadable expression taking over Arthur’s face.  
  
“Magic. Merlin, you –”  
  
It felt like a hammer to the chest. Merlin opened his mouth, but couldn’t say anything. In the end, he resorted to the only thing he could think of. He ran.  
  


~``~

  
  
Merlin wastes no time; he packs the few clothes he owns, his magic book, and a blanket. He sneaks through the castle, avoiding anyone and everyone. He can’t even say goodbye to Gaius. Within the hour Merlin has escaped from Camelot and starts on his way for the Forest of Balor. It’s too much of a risk to head for Ealdor. Merlin worries for his mother, since it’s likely that will be the first place Arthur will send his knights.  
  
But the nights are growing colder and Merlin’s mind turns away from thoughts of his mother and his old home. The first few nights he spends away from Camelot are probably the hardest. Being so close to winter, the wood is waterlogged and in some cases covered with a layer of frost. With every attempt at drying the wood to light it, Merlin only ends up with soggy ash. He soon becomes frustrated and gives up entirely; resorting to huddling under the little clothing he took with him.  
  
With little in the way of food and almost nothing to shelter him from the cold of the near winter night, Merlin huddles up in a small cave he’s found. Not that it deserves to be called a cave; it’s barely larger than him and little more than an overhang of large rocks. But it’s the best he could find for the time being. And besides, he’ll have to move on in the morning. He can’t risk staying so near Camelot.  
  
Merlin shivers as he tries unsuccessfully to find a comfortable position. The thin blanket and both of his jackets are little protection from the elements. He curses. Why did he have to go and be so stupid? Why couldn’t he have stayed in the shadows and saved Arthur’s life as he always had? Merlin couldn’t honestly say what had come over him. Only that the fire ball had been heading straight for Arthur and Merlin was too far away to really _do_ anything about it.  
  
“This is ridiculous,” Merlin mumbles, rolling his eyes at his own mental blathering.  
  
“It’s no use blathering on about it. You saved the Prat’s life, _again_. So what if you’re on the run. It’s not like the clotpole will _really_ send knights after you, right? I mean Gaius surely wouldn’t let him.” But Merlin isn’t really sure what to think any more. Maybe Arthur will send his Knights after him after all.  
  
Merlin pauses and blinks before running a hand over his face. “And now you’re talking to yourself. That’s _great_ Merlin, just brilliant.”  
  
He doesn’t know how, but he finally manages to fall into a fitful sleep in the wee hours of the morning only to be woken by the dawn sun peaking through the trees and the startling event of a rabbit hopping through the bushes. As he gathers his things and sets off again he is momentarily grateful no one had been around to hear him screech like a girl.  
  


~``~

  
  
“We must send out knights at once! The criminal Merlin _must_ be captured!”  
  
Arthur braced himself against his father’s old throne—he just can’t bring himself to call it _his_ just yet— jaw clenched. “What would you have me do, Uncle? _Merlin_ ,” and damn, was it difficult to even think the boy’s name now, “Is probably far from Camelot by now.”  
  
“So we send our best trackers. We cannot allow one simple boy to overthrow years of hard work dedicated to the banishment of sorcerery. Arthur you must see reason in this.”  
  
Arthur’s eyes narrowed and cut across to Agravaine. “Reason, Uncle? Let us not forget that it is by that _sorcerer’s_ hand that I am alive right now. What reason is there in condemning a man for saving the life of his Prince? No, we cannot hunt him down for that.”  
  
“You would let him become like Morgana then?”  
  
Arthur tensed. “Do not mention Morgana to me. Whatever Merlin may be, he wouldn’t – No. Morgana has nothing to do with this.”  
  
Then, left with no other alternative, Agravaine pulls his trump card, his hidden weapon. “Arthur, it’s what your father would want. Would you dishonor him? And for what? The sake of some servant boy? A sorcerer, no less. What would your father think Arthur?”  
  
There was a sick sense of satisfaction in Agravaine as he saw the moment Arthur’s shoulders slump in defeat. “Of course, Uncle. Of course you’re right. I’ll lead a team of knights first thing in the morning.”  
  
Agravaine chose to ignore the stiff, bitter tone of his nephew’s voice, pasted on a smile and grasped his shoulder instead. “Good man. Your father would be proud.”  
  
And all the while Arthur couldn’t help but think that he could never be less proud of himself in all his life.  
  


~``~

  
  
“Sire, he’s just a boy. Please, I…”  
  
“I’m sorry Gaius. You know the laws as well as I do. Agravaine was right. I have to find him.” The last statement is said more to himself than anything, but Gaius ignores it.  
  
“He’s the closest thing I have to a son.”  
  
Arthur can’t reply. He remains turned towards his window, staring out into the courtyard below. The silence between the two of them stretches until Arthur hears the creak of the door. He breathes in and out slowly, shakily. Adamantly, he ignores the dampness of his eyes.  
  


~``~

  
  
“You know I can’t agree with this, Sire.”  
  
“Nor I. I’m sorry Arthur, but… he’s our friend.”  
  
Arthur looks back at his, well his friends. Lancelot, standing with an air of reluctance and a small amount of guilt. Gwen, sweet Guinevere, unconsciously mirroring his stance. The two of them, side by side, make a picture. Of what, he’s not quite sure but he does know that for the longest time, he’s been fooling himself. The combined weight of their gazes almost makes him hang his head in shame.  
  
“He’s my friend too.” Arthur doesn’t say that he wants nothing more than to let Merlin go, that Merlin is more than friend to him than anyone, that he has no choice, that if it were up to him, Merlin would be awarded for saving his life—again—not punished. He doesn’t say these things. They already know.  
  
So he doesn’t say these things. He just steps up to Lancelot and grasps his shoulder to look him straight in the eye. “You stay in Camelot. Look after her,” he says after a pause. He turns to Gwen and blithely looks past the glassy shine in her eyes to embrace her for what feels may be the last time.  
  
He says “I’m sorry” because that’s the only thing he knows to say to her. Then he grits his teeth and walks away.  
  


~``~

  
  
The night passes quickly, though Arthur gets little sleep. He heaves himself from his bed at dawn and systematically dresses himself. He tries not to think of Merlin, but there’s so much of Merlin engrained into his life that it’s impossible. Little bits of memories crop up here and there no matter how hard he tries to stop them.  
  
His fingers stumble over the ties to his shirt, recalling how nimble Merlin’s long fingers were at the same task, after the first few weeks at least. Merlin really had been the worst servant Arthur had ever had. And the best. He had to close his eyes as images of Merlin’s smiling, unassuming face flashed before his eyes.  
  
Whether he’d been polishing Arthur’s armor or stoking the fire or simply standing there, Merlin’s smile was the one thing he could count on to always be there. Merlin, the servant. Merlin, the friend. Merlin, the _sorcerer_. Arthur can’t integrate them in his mind. So he doesn’t try. He pushes thoughts of Merlin away and focuses on his duty. To Camelot. Agravaine was right about one thing last night: he can’t overthrow twenty years worth of laws for one servant. No matter how much he wants to.  
  
Gathering his team of Knights goes easily enough, though they do so reluctantly. He understands their resistance. Especially Gwaine. Merlin was their friend too. Like a little brother to all of them. And now they are forced to hunt him down like a criminal.  
  
“I know this is a difficult thing to face, but as knights we made an oath to protect the people of Camelot and uphold the laws that the King has set forth. Merlin was a dear friend to all of you and I realize that you won’t agree with our mission to find him,” Arthur steadfastly ignores Gwaine’s snort and continues. “But the law demands he pay for his crimes.”  
  
Arthur pauses and looks around at his small band of knights. From Gwaine’s unusually sour face, to Leon’s vaguely disproving one. None of them wanted to do this. None of them. Not even Arthur. He mentally shakes himself. _Duty to Camelot_ , he reminded himself.  
  
“We’ll start with the surrounding woods; look for any trace of him, find a trail, something. Your orders are to keep searching until the sorcerer Merlin is found and brought back to Camelot.”  
  
And with those final words Arthur strides out of the castle, his reluctant knights on his heel and a heavy feeling in his heart.  
  
  
[](http://pics.livejournal.com/darksagegrl0/pic/0000rw15/)  
  
Merlin stays at his small outcropping of rocks for a few days, paranoid and jittery to the last minute. He soon enough shoulders his pack and starts stalking through the forest again. The ground is frosted over from last night’s cold snap.  
  
Merlin shivers and bundles his thin coats tighter around himself. Fortunately, he’s tamped down any more conversations-with-himself incidents and his mind stays rather blissfully blank and he makes his way through the mountains to Balor Forest.  
  
He knows there’s a trail close by, but he hesitates to go too near it. Surely if the Knights of Camelot are on his tail, taking the road would be obvious, right? So for the most part he sticks a good distance away; close enough that he can hear someone coming, far enough that his presence is not known. At least something from his and Arthur’s many stealthy quests has stuck with him.  
  
He walks for hours, alert to every sound. He jumps at the sudden cries of falcons, the shift of bushes behind him. At some point, he gets hungry and reluctantly uses his magic to hunt a skinny rabbit. He can’t help but mutter a small apology as he skins and cooks it.  
  
When the light grows dim and he can hear nothing but the wind in the trees and the distant din of the forest he curls himself up next to a tree. He curses Arthur and the dragon for a few good measures. If this is what destiny is like, he’s not so sure he wants to be a part of it.  
  
  
  
  
Gaius, for all his years and wisdom, isn’t sure what to do in the aftermath of Merlin’s fleeing. He briefly wonders if he should go after the boy. But he is too old and his bones are not as strong as they used to be. Merlin is like a son to him, but he just cannot take the strain of gallivanting into the forest after him.  
  
In the end, he sends a letter to Hunith, secreted away in the pocket of a young farmer on the road to Cenred’s kingdom. He tells her of the events that have unfolded these past several days. He tries to convince her that Merlin will be alright, that he has faith in the boy—no, in the young man. He warns of the possibility of Camelot knights coming to Ealdor. It is all he can do, in the end. All he can do… except wait.  
  
  
  
  
“Don’t you have a duty to perform, _Sir_ Gwaine?”  
  
They’d been searching the woods surrounding Camelot for a few days now, scouts already sent to Ealdor and back. Merlin was too smart to go back to his childhood home, as Arthur knew he would be. Agravaine had been hammering down on Arthur hard about Merlin. It was of the utmost importance to find him and continue upholding the laws put forth by King Uther, or so he said. Arthur wasn’t really so sure. But first and foremost he was a Knight of Camelot and Prince Regent. He would do his duty.  
  
“Aye. I s’pose I do.” Gwaine doesn’t make a move to get up from the log he’d been lounging against. Arthur stares at him, incredulous.  
  
“And don’t you think you should be, oh I don’t know, _performing_ it?” Arthur gestures with his arms, obviously trying to imply that Gwaine should be doing _something_ rather than staring back at him with that cheeky smirk.  
  
“I should shouldn’t I?”  
  
Arthur barely resists pinching his brow, already feeling the headache coming on. Being around Gwaine for an extended amount of time will do that to a person. He levels a glare at his recalcitrant knight instead.  
  
“As a knight you swore an oath to King and country. You’re treading very closely to breaking that oath right now Gwaine.” He starts off sternly, trying to be the Prince everyone—including himself—expects him to be. But in the end, his voice softens and he sounds more strained than a stone-face Prince at the moment. It makes Gwaine’s smirk fall, a more serious expression on his face than Arthur thinks he’s ever seen.  
  
“I did swear an oath, yes. But I also make a promise to Merlin. My _friend_ Merlin. And I don’t intend to break that.”  
  
“So you intend to betray your King then? For _Merlin_?” Arthur can’t believe what he’s hearing. That _Gwaine_ has the strength to do what he cannot… it makes him cringe.  
  
“Absolutely not, Princess. But I certainly won’t be responsible for helping to betray _him_.” And it’s very clear which ‘him’ Gwaine is referring too. Clearly satisfied with getting his point across, Gwaine leans back against his stump and crosses his arms defiantly.  
  
Arthur opens his mouth to say something—possibly to scold his knight or protest that he won’t betray _anybody_ if he can help it, he’s not sure—but suddenly Sir Leon is bursting through the trees.  
  
“Sire! We’ve found a small cave with recently burnt wood. There are tracks leading south.” Leon delivers the report in a stiff manner. Arthur had been ignoring the increasingly disproving—he refuses to think disappointed, though that’s what they are—looks he’s been sending his way ever since that day Merlin hightailed from the courtyard and run out of Camelot.  
  
Arthur slowly nods. Putting the previous conversation with Gwaine from his mind and looking away from his sharp gaze, Arthur pulls up straight and clenches his jaw momentarily. “Then we head south.”  
  
  
  
  
Merlin’s not sure how long he’d been running for, perhaps a week by now. All he knows is that one minute, he was laying his head down into a makeshift pillow of his gangly arms and one of his jackets, and the next thing he knows the high noon sun is waking him up. He bolts to his feet and strains his ears as he searches the trees for a spot of red.  
  
Damn his laziness, and damn his weakness. He’s lost half a day already and who knows how close the Knights might be. Hell, they could be upon him any moment. With that thought ironed into his thick skull, Merlin grabs up his jacket and pack and continues his trudging through the mountains.  
  
He passes a small stream about an hour later and wonders if it would be worth it. Just a few minutes to wash off the dirt and grime and sweat. He hasn’t gone this long without washing since that time he and Will had decided to run away and live together. Sadly, Merlin’s control hadn’t been stellar at the time and when they tried cut down a tree for some wood to actually _build_ a house, it ended up falling on Old Man Simmons instead. Then again, he had been only eight.  
  
Shaking his head to shed himself of the memories, Merlin stopped briefly to gather some more water in his waterskin and continued on. He couldn’t risk stopping—as much as he wanted to—but already he’d lost time and surely the Knights weren’t far behind by now.  
  
  
  
  
“The tracks have stopped, Sire.”  
  
Arthur pulls up short, bringing his eyes up from the ground to stare blankly at Sir Leon. To his credit, Leon doesn’t shuffle or fidget as any lesser man would do. He only stares back, a vaguely disapproving expression in place.  
  
“Sire. The other Knights and I believe that the trail is lost. Perhaps it would be best to return to Camelot. Clearly Merlin has escaped us.”  
  
“We are under orders to apprehend the sorcerer at all costs, Sir Leon. We keep going.” Arthur makes a move to continue on, maybe they’d find some new tracks or a clue or _something_ to indicate where Merlin might’ve gone next, but a discontent sound from his knight makes him pause.  
  
“ _Sire_ –”  
  
Arthur turns back to Leon and rests a hand on his shoulder. For a brief moment he allows his emotions to come through; all the guilt, the anxiety, the worry. He lets it paint his face for just that brief amount of time. “I’m sorry, Leon. You know there’s nothing I can do. We have to find Merlin.”  
  
Leon looks back at him, expression hardening. “No, Sire. You _can_ do something, you just choose not to.”  
  
And with that he shrugs off Arthur’s hand and stalks back to the other knights. Arthur swallows thickly. Merlin probably didn’t know it, but he had most of Camelot wrapped around his pinky finger. With a sigh he trudges after Leon to rejoin the others. He walks over to Llamrei, and hauls his tent pack off her.  
  
“We’ll camp here for tonight then. There should be a stream not far from here, so refill your waterskins. Percival, Gwaine, see if you can find us something to eat.”  
  
Arthur set himself to putting up his tent, ignoring the unsure shuffle of Percival and the mocking bow from Gwaine. He really isn’t in the mood to deal with Gwaine right now.  
  
Turns out there are a few hares hanging about, and the smell of them as they cook on the fire, what little fat they have dripping off and sizzling on the hot logs, has Arthur’s mouth watering. He takes his share and removes himself from the group, trying not to feel as isolated as he is as he hears their joking and carousing in the background.  
  
Merlin used to join in with them, telling stories and singing songs in a low tone—bawdy tales that he didn’t even know Merlin could fathom. Before Merlin came along, Arthur had been just as he is now, away from them all, on his own. It was really because of Merlin that Arthur had started getting to know his knights better in the first place. All down to Merlin.  
  
Arthur gives a few last half-hearted stabs at his food and stalks into his tent, shrugging off the way the sudden quietness of the group follows him like a dark cloud. They start back up again soon enough, probably assuming he’s retired to sleep. But for a good deal of time he mostly lay awake, hands behind his head as he stares up at nothing, thoughts of Merlin this and Merlin that plaguing him. It’s hours before he can get any sort of sleep at all.  
  
  
  
  
The smell of it almost makes him topple over at its suddenness. For days, he’s been living off berries and the stale bread he’d managed to find in his pack. He hadn’t quite been able to stomach hunting down another animal after that first rabbit, and soon relegated himself to eating whatever fruits and vegetation his magic could come up with (it only took him four years to perfect that strawberry making charm, though they still somehow managed to _smell_ like roses).  
  
Merlin stands stock still against a tree for a few minutes, deliberating with himself on whether he should… but the rumbling in his stomach makes that decision for him and he shoulders his pack tighter and heads in the direction of the wonderful smell of roasting hare. He sneaks slowly as he comes upon them, the red of their cloaks advertising their Camelot Knight status.  
  
Merlin resists the urge to stomp his foot in frustration. He can see Leon, Elyan, Percival, and Gwaine all huddled around the fire, laughing and joking with each other. There’s no way he’d be able to sneak by them and get some of their food, even with his magic. Merlin bites his lip and surveys the rest of their campsite. He can’t see Arthur.  
  
A foolish thought invades his mind, maybe Arthur hadn’t come with them. Maybe Arthur was being held back at Camelot, in the dungeon for treason because he’d defended Merlin or refused to come after him. Maybe, maybe, _maybe_. Merlin bites the inside of his cheek until he can taste iron on his tongue. No use in getting caught up in a world of maybes.  
  
Merlin spots the large tent a moment later. It’s removed from the rest of the tents and slightly larger and infinitely more prattish Merlin would wager. He sneaks along until he can pull back one flap of the tent and peer inside. A breath of relief almost escapes him as he feels the warmth filter out of the tent. Days living in the cold of the pre-winter forest has given him an almost permanent chill, but all it takes to thaw him out is the warmth of the Prince’s tent ghosting over his skin.  
  
Movement from further into the darkness makes him freeze, fear and guilt and a cloying sense of foreboding crash over him, but as his eyes adjusts he sees it’s only Arthur adjusting in his sleep. Merlin swallows and moves cautiously into the tent, flap falling limply closed behind him. He stands there, staring at Arthur. A million questions run through his head. He wants to shake him awake, make him answer them. But he fears that to do so would guarantee his capture and transport back to Camelot, back to the pyre.  
  
He shivers, rooted to his spot right inside the entrance, skin slowly warming up in the small space. Looking around he can see that Arthur, the prat, has brought more comforts of home with him than necessary. It’s with no amount of guilt that Merlin snatches up one (Yes, one, just one. He can tell there are more, the arse) of Arthur’s winter coats. He thinks that it’s only fair. It is after all, all Arthur’s fault he’s out here in the first place. At least, that’s how he’s going to rationalize it. At least until it starts sounding true.  
  
Shrugging the thick fabric around his shoulders and giving a small shiver of delight at the cozy feel of it, Merlin gives one last look at Arthur’s sleeping form. He muses regretfully at the past week.  
  
He keeps his voice low and to himself, but luckily Arthur stays asleep, even when Merlin’s fingers brush over his forehead and down the side of his cheek. “How can I believe anything the dragon said, when now it’s obvious you hate me for what I am. How can _this_ possibly be our destiny?”  
  
It would be so easy just to huddle in the corner and curl up for a few hours of sleep in this blessed warmth, with Arthur just like old times, but he can’t risk it. With a sniff that is _not_ him crying, thank you very much, Merlin stands and makes his way swiftly out of the camp. Camelot has caught up with him and now he needs to get a move on if he wants to be far enough away by morning.  
  


~``~

  
  
It’s only with years of training that Arthur is able to keep perfectly still when the flap to his tent opens. He knows that the knights are still around the fire and even then, none of them would enter his tent without permission.  
  
There are only two (okay, maybe three, but the third is so ridiculous it doesn’t bear thinking about) possibilities. Either it’s some bandit who’s managed to slip past four Knights of Camelot and locate his tent with such stealth as to be commended, or it’s Merlin. Stupid, idiot, wonderful Merlin who _would_ sneak into the tent of the very man trying to hunt him down.  
  
For long moments, Arthur’s not sure what to make of Merlin. He doesn’t dare open his eyes, even at a squint, to look upon his ex-manservant. But it doesn’t even seem like he’s doing anything other than stand there. He hears a few shuffles, possibly Merlin sighing to himself and then his presence comes closer. Arthur goes stiff at the feel of Merlin crouching next to him. He’s not sure at all what Merlin was going to do, but the soft touch to his face isn’t what he’d been expecting.  
  
Arthur has to bite the inside of his lip when he hears the soft, confusing words from Merlin before he slips out. Words of dragons and destiny and hate. So few words, but Arthur can’t comprehend them. When Merlin is long gone, he opens his eyes and stares into nothing, mind racing.  
  
One thing is clear to him. Merlin thinks Arthur hates him. It’s a sad thought really. Sure Arthur was surprised, confused even, that Merlin hadn’t told him. He had thought there was trust there, between them. But to hate Merlin? Impossible. Surely, Merlin would see that he did what he had to.  
  
 _But,_ his mind supplies, flashing back to Leon’s face earlier, _perhaps, I have been about as clear as mud when it comes to reassuring my friends of my true feelings._ Merlin never had understood the meaning of subtle.

 

  
  
Arthur is not quite sure whether to be surprised or not when he wakes up to find his winter coat missing. At most, he can only shake his head. Remembering how cold it had been the night before, he doesn’t blame Merlin for taking it. He only wishes he could do more, bound by duty as he is.  
  
For the rest of the morning he barks at his knights, blatantly ignoring the pointed looks from Leon and Gwaine and avoiding Elyan as much as possible. It was a mistake to bring Elyan along. Every time Arthur sees him it’s a reminder of how he left Gwen at Camelot. She may have understood, but that doesn’t make it any less hurtful.  
  
Arthur strides past Gwaine to fasten his pack onto Llamrei. Bitingly he calls out to him. “Are you going to be insubordinate today Gwaine or will we actually get a move on for once?”  
  
“Aye, I can be insubordinate if you like, Princess; I am good at that.”  
  
“Sometimes I think that’s the only thing you’re good at.”  
He misses Gwaine’s smirk due to his back being towards him, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t still hear it. “Then what would be your reasoning for always bringing me along then, hmm?”  
  
And just like that, the almost easy, normal start to his morning is gone. He glances over his shoulder at Gwaine’s still smirking face and replies in a low voice, “Merlin.”  
  
He straddles his horse and they move out. No one talks for the rest of the morning.  
  


~``~

  
  
He finds Merlin’s recent tracks sometime around midday. He doesn’t mention them, and it seems that his knights don’t see fit to mention them either. It crosses his mind, briefly, that this entire thing is a sham. A façade they are all willing to take on if only for the sake of their leader. Arthur feels slightly ill at the thought.  
  
They decide to make camp at sundown again. Arthur’s fairly sure that Merlin has been keeping close all day. He shakes his head as he fiddles with his pack. Merlin makes no sense. He runs from Camelot without so much as an explanation, like he actually _expected_ the first words out of Arthur’s mouth to be “burn him”, and then he sticks close to the bloody search party of _knights_. Surely by now, he’d have realized that Arthur doesn’t care about the magic?  
  
Memories of the previous night surface in his mind. He reflects on what Merlin said and holds back a deep sigh. Clearly, he has not been a good friend if Merlin actually believes that Arthur would hate him for the magic. It was the lying. Arthur clenches his jaw. If— _when_ —they find him, he and Merlin are going to have a nice, long chat about the lying.  
  
Their night at camp is much like the previous ones, though much more subdued. The knights still crouch around the fire, talking and sharing gossip. Arthur still grabs his share of dinner and retreats to his solitude, unable to sit in the tense quiet that seems to come of his _friends_ whenever he comes close.  
  
Later that night, when everyone has slipped off to their own tents and to sleep, Arthur remains awake. He sits up on his bedroll and waits; it’s foolish, he thinks, waiting for Merlin. The way he’s got it figured, Merlin would sneak back in, if only to steal more of Arthur’s clothes (as if Arthur’s best winter coat was not enough for the little idiot).  
  
By the time Arthur hears rustling outside, most of the knights have retired to their own tents, and the fire has burnt down into embers. He stays still, waits for the scratchy shift of his tent flap. The person doesn’t speak out as they enter his tent; it’s definitely Merlin.  
  
He hears Merlin shuffle closer to his bedroll. He waits until Merlin is close enough, and then he moves. Quick as a flash, he has Merlin on his back underneath him. Arthur straddles his waist and glares down at the frightened face of his ex-manservant.  
  
“Ah, Merlin. How _nice_ to see you again. And in my own coat, how wonderful.” Arthur’s voice is hard with sarcasm, and he feels a twinge of guilt as Merlin recoils from him. He’d never meant for it to become this.  
  
“Well? Do you have anything to say for yourself?” He tightens his hands on Merlin’s wrists where they are on either side of his head. Merlin grimaces.  
  
“Arthur, I…”  
  
“You what, _Mer_ lin? What?”  
  
“I – Arthur. You’re hurting me.” Arthur hisses and abruptly lets go of Merlin. He stands and moves to the far side of the tent, which isn’t really that far. Even still, it feels like a gulf between them. Merlin sits up slowly, rubbing his delicate little wrists. Arthur almost scoffs. He hadn’t been holding on that tightly.  
  
The silence stretches between them, Arthur not sure how to get all his muddle thoughts out into the open, and Merlin staring despondently at Arthur’s bedroll. Eventually Arthur huffs a breath.  
  
“You can stop looking like I’m about to murder you Merlin. I didn’t spend weeks following your trail to kill you.”  
  
Merlin swallows and looks at him with wary hope in his eyes. Innocent looks like those were what made Arthur’s gut clench and his heart thump annoyingly in his chest. Damn Merlin for his _face_.  
  
“You – you’re not going to have me executed?” He asks hesitantly. Arthur crosses his arms.  
  
“I ought to have your head just for thinking I would do such a thing. Idiot.”  
  
“Prat.” It’s so reflexive now, that it seems to just slip out of Merlin’s mouth. It makes Arthur laugh ruefully. Merlin returns his smile with a small one of his own. It feels like old times.  
  
“So,” Arthur levels a glare at him. “You took my coat.”  
  
“Well, it _is_ the middle of winter, in case you hadn’t noticed.”  
  
“Oh, I had noticed. It got quite cold after _someone_ took my coat.”  
  
They both laugh when Merlin gets a sheepish expression. Arthur feels much lighter than he has in weeks. He’s missed Merlin. Arthur sobers after a moment, surveying Merlin.  
  
"Why didn't you tell me?"  
  
And just like that the moment is lost. Merlin twitches, saying nothing. But he doesn't need to say anything, the guilty, tired expression on his face says more than enough.  
  
"You fool. You damn fool." Arthur whispers, hands clenching unconsciously. He vaguely registers Merlin's throat bobbing.  
  
“I... I can’t –”  
  
And then the next minute he's dashing out of the tent and Arthur's yelling after him, calling out his name. Arthur makes it to the edge of camp before he loses sight of the warlock. He pauses, lets out a gust of breath and curses. The knights clamor up next to him. He glances sideways at them. Gwaine is staring at him with an inscrutable look.  
  
"That was Merlin? Been having secret midnight rendezvous with him often then?" Arthur brushes off the pointed and questioning looks of the others and rushes back to mount Llamrei. He's done trying to explain himself, his motives, his fucking _feelings_ on the matter. Right now he just wants Merlin back where he belongs, by Arthur's side.  
  
  
  
  
Merlin rushes through the underbrush, tripping over tree roots. He hisses as he fails to dodge a stray twig, a cold-hardened bark scraping against his skin, leaving a thin cut over his cheek. He doesn’t pause for it. He knew it was a bad idea, a horribly bad idea, to sneak into Arthur’s tent again. He’d _known_ damn it. But the nights had been growing steadily colder and Arthur’s tent had been so warm, and he would have given _anything_ just to see Arthur’s face again, soft and gentled in sleep as it had been that night.  
  
 _No chance of ever seeing that now,_ he thinks bitterly. But he bites his lip against the clench in his chest and the strain in his legs and pushes on. He had been running for what seemed like forever by the time he stopped to catch his breath. He leans over, gasping for air, and listens intently to his surroundings. The woods are silent. Not even a cricket or an owl, or even the dreaded sound of Camelot Knights. Just the wind rustling through the trees.  
  
Merlin breathes a sigh in relief and collapses down next to a fallen tree. He closes his eyes and leans back his head. _Stupid,_ he thinks. Why did he have to go and be so stupid? To think that Arthur would actually forgive him, hell that he would welcome him back with open arms? Stupid! He shakes his head ruefully. _So much for destiny._  
  
A snap of a twig startles him to his feet. He looks around. The trees around him are rather thick; perfect hiding grounds. But that’s just as good for him as it is bad. Merlin tenses at another crack behind him. Without thinking, he centers himself, goes over spells in his mind. He whirls on the spot, ready to attack whoever, whatever is there, but there is nothing. Caught off-guard he falters, and that’s when they strike. A sudden yell makes him freeze momentarily and then he’s face to face with a bandit. Merlin’s eyes widen as he ducks away from a sharp sword.  
  
Backing away quickly, he flings out a hand. His eyes grow gold with the spell on his lips and a large branch falls to hit the bandit to the ground. “ _Ic bebíede feallan!_ ”  
  
Merlin straightens with a deep breath, thinking that the danger is over. But then three more of his bandit friends rush out of the trees, yelling and waving blades about. Merlin gulps and fends them off the best he can. He manages to knock one of them out, but the other two keep coming at him. His breath gets heavier and his dodges get slower. He manages to make one of their blades burn bright as it slices through the air to his side. He hisses; that was a close call.  
  
Then disaster strikes in the form of a tree stump. Merlin flails as he loses his balance and falls backwards, hitting the forest floor with a grunt. The two bandits smirk down at him. He swallows. He really, _really_ doesn’t want it to end like this. Merlin takes a deep breath and steels himself. If it is his time, he’s damn well going to go down fighting.  
  
  
  
  
He urges Llamrei through the trees, not paying attention to his knights struggling to keep up with him. His focus is entirely on the woods around him. He searches through the trees for a glimpse of Merlin. There’s nothing. Arthur curses, bringing his horse to a stop. There’s nothing here. No tracks, no red neckerchief, no Merlin. He curses again.  
  
Gwaine is the first one to pull up beside him. He has an inscrutable look on his face. Arthur bites back to the urge to snap at him.  
  
“What?” He asks instead, voice weary and resigned.  
  
Gwaine shrugs and looks away. “Nothing,” he says in a casual tone. But Arthur’s not having any of that. He scowls at the other man.  
  
“ _What?_ ”  
  
“It’s not my place to say, _Sire_.” And just how is it that Merlin and Gwaine can make his title sound like an insult all the time?  
  
“Since when have you ever worried about ‘not your place’?”  
  
“Obviously, I’ve spent too much time with nobility and not enough time in the tavern.”  
  
Arthur rolls his eyes. He sighs. “No need to hold back on my account Gwaine. You’ve fought with me about this every step of the way. Why back down now?”  
  
“True,” Gwaine smirks at Arthur’s admission. “It’s just… You’ve been having these secret midnight meetings with Merlin this whole time, yet you’re still hell-bent on taking him back to Camelot.”  
  
“Was there a question in that?” Arthur glares at him. “And I haven’t been meeting Merlin this whole time, just last night.”  
  
“No question. Just an observation.” Gwaine falls silent, but looks at Arthur with piercing eyes. IT makes Arthur’s skin crawl.  
  
“Of course I want him back in Camelot, alright!” Arthur suddenly bursts out. First the whole thing with Merlin, and now Gwaine, has him on edge. “Contrary to what _everyone_ seems to think, I do care about him! I just… I want my friend back, alright?”  
  
Arthur’s voice lowers to a plaintive whisper that has Gwaine leaning closer just to hear. When Arthur finishes, he stares at the ground. He shouldn’t have lost his composure like that. He tenses as Gwaine lays a hand on his shoulder.  
  
“You’re not alone in that, Princess.” They share a look, finally on the same page where this whole thing is concerned. Arthur only wished he could say the same for everyone else.  
  
Their moment is ruined by a sudden noise from the woods. It sounds like a yell. And then the unmistakable sound of a spell followed by the crack of wood. Arthur and Gwaine glance at each other before dismounting and rushing towards the yells.  
  
The scene that meets them is a surprise. There is Merlin, on the ground, and hovering menacingly are two armed men. Arthur wastes no time. With a shout, he’s running toward the bandits and attacking. The first one he dispatches easily. He parries and sticks his sword swiftly into the man’s gut, not pausing to watch him hit the ground. Arthur turns to find Gwaine facing off with the other one.  
  
The bandit quickly falls victim to Gwaine’s blade and then everything is over. Arthur takes a small breath. He meets eyes with Merlin, who is still on his back. Almost against his will, one of his eyebrows raise and he looks down at Merlin.  
  
“Don’t you worry _Mer_ lin, we’ve got it all covered. No need for your help.”  
  
Gwaine chuckles and gives Merlin a hand up. Merlin huffs as he’s hauled upright and brushes absently at his backside.  
  
“Lot of ruddy help you are. I did manage to knock out _two_ of them before you showed up, you know.”  
  
A quick glance around the forest floor showed he was right. Arthur was almost impressed. Almost. Instead he rolled his eyes.  
  
“I suppose a simple thank you is a bit beyond your mental capacity,” he says.  
  
Merlin immediately looks sheepish. He opens his mouth to say something in reply, but then the rest of the knights are hurtling through the brush. They stop short at the sight of Merlin next to Gwaine and the bandits strewn about the ground. Leon recovers first.  
  
“Sire,” he addresses Arthur and glances to Merlin. “Your orders?”  
  
Merlin tenses and makes to run, but Arthur catches his arm. Arthur doesn’t look him in the face. “Your _orders_ ,” he stresses, still not looking at Merlin, but at Leon. “Were to track down the sorcerer Merlin.”  
  
Arthur pauses and finally— _finally_ —looks at Merlin’s face. “And so we did.” He looks around at his knights. Leon, with his disapproving looks that he can’t quite hide. Elyan and Percival, who act unsure and wary of contesting their King. Gwaine, who remains openly discordant in everything he does. And finally, Merlin, who still has flickers of fear and hesitant hope in his eyes.  
  
“I meant what I said Merlin. I have no wish to kill you, much less hurt you.”  
  
“What are you going to do then? Magic is banned, Arthur. I won’t go back if it means my death!”  
  
Arthur’s arms fly up. “I know! Damn it Merlin!” He rubs his hands over his face and takes a deep breath. “Merlin…” He trails off as he looks at Merlin. _Really_ looks at him. He doesn’t see a sorcerer or an evil man. He doesn’t even see his manservant anymore. Standing there, Merlin is just a man. A man Arthur is so god damned in love with. A man who – who’s bleeding from his side! Alarm fills him.  
  
“Merlin!” He says again and rushes forward to pull up his tunic. Merlin looks down at the deep gash Arthur reveals. He stares at it blankly, his mind flashing back to the slight sting he’d felt in the midst of battle. He’d been so focused on _surviving_ ; it had escaped his notice completely.  
  
“Oh, that.” He says, and then his eyes roll back in their sockets and Arthur barely has time to catch him. The rest of the knights rush forwards as well, Gwaine crowding in first to help Arthur support Merlin’s dead weight.  
  
“Fuck. We have to get him back to Camelot. To Gaius.” Gwaine gives him a stony look. Arthur clenches his jaw. “He needs to see Gaius. You know what can happen to a man if this kind of wound goes untreated, Gwaine.”  
  
Gwaine sighs. “Alright. Come on then Princess. Let’s get him on the horse.”  
  
  
  
  
Agravaine and Gaius must have some sort of seer powers because they’re both waiting in the courtyard when Arthur and the Knights gallop in. Agravaine has a large grin on his face as he observes the unconscious body of Arthur’s former manservant.  
  
“Arthur! Well done, my boy!”  
  
Arthur ignores him, jumping off his horse and quickly pulls Merlin down from Gwaine’s saddle. “Gaius,” he speaks over his shoulder. “Gaius, he’s wounded.”  
  
Gaius strides forward. “What happened?” He takes in the blood on Merlin’s tunic, the dark circles under his eyes, and the pallor of his skin.  
  
“Bandits. Four of them. They were armed. He faced off with a few of them before we interfered.”  
  
“Come. Let’s get him to my chambers.” Gaius leads the way, Arthur right on his heels. Both ignore the flabbergasted look on Agravaine’s face and the shocked faces of everyone they pass. Gaius bangs open the door to his chambers and starts rustling around his many potions and herbs, muttering to himself.  
  
“Lay him down there, on his side,” He points to a long table to one side of the room. Arthur quickly places Merlin there, knocking down a few empty bowls and a few candles to the floor. Without prompting, he removes Merlin’s shirt. Without the clothes, Merlin looks smaller, more vulnerable. He can see the whole gash now. From what he can see, it’s a clean cut, no jagged edges. It spans for at least six inches from his back downward towards his hip. The blood seems to have mostly stopped, now tacky and brownish.  
  
“Here, help me clean up the wound.” Gaius shoves a wet cloth into his hand. Carefully, Arthur dabs the sides of the gash, clearing away the dried flakes of blood. He accidentally grazes the red edge of the wound, making Merlin moan and shift away. Gaius soothes another rag over the wound; this one reeks to high heaven. Arthur _really_ doesn’t want to know what the physician is using to treat Merlin with. Merlin settles in his sleep.  
  
“There. That should prevent infection. Now,” Gaius turns to grab a pile of white cloth. “Help me wrap him, Sire.”  
  
They work quietly, wrapping the thin material over and over around Merlin’s torso. Finally, Gaius makes one last pass and ties off the binding. He sighs and wipes his brow with the back of his hand before looking over at Arthur. There is gratefulness in his eyes, and something else that Arthur can’t really name.  
  
“Thank you, Arthur. For getting him to me so quickly.”  
  
Arthur nods his head absently. Fixing Gaius with a solemn look he says, “Make sure he gets better.”  
With that he strides towards the door, only to halt at Gaius’ voice.  
  
“What will you do, Sire? After he regains his health?”  
  
Arthur looks over his shoulder at his old mentor. “I think it’s time Uncle and I have a little chat. I won’t be the same man my father was. I can’t be. My own ideals are different from his. My feelings on certain – matters, are quite different as well,” Arthur turns fully to Gaius, but his eyes stray towards the prone form of his friend. “There are some things I must change, Gaius.”  
  
Gaius’ eyes light up in a way that Arthur can only interpret to be approval, or pride. Either way, it feels like a small weight has been lifted. With one last nod to the physician, he makes his way out of the chambers and through the castle.  
  


~``~

  
  
He finds Agravaine in the council chambers, unsurprisingly in the midst of a heated talk with the rest of the councilors. It strikes Arthur then, that he doesn’t have any of his own appointed councilors; they’re all from his father’s reign. Everything had just been so hectic after his father’s death that he’d never really thought about appointing his own. Perhaps, Merlin would consider the position. Arthur would need the advice on magic if what he planned actually came to pass.  
  
Arthur clears his throat to get their attention. Almost immediately their voices die down and Arthur finds himself the center of attention. Agravaine is the first to speak up.  
  
“Arthur! What the devil is going on? You’ve brought back the prisoner. Surely by now you would have sent out for the pyre to be prepared. Or at least fetch the executioner.”  
  
Arthur steels himself for his announcement; this should be an interesting discussion. “Uncle. Council members. There is not going to be an execution.”  
  
There is silence in the hall. Then Agravaine starts chuckling, like Arthur’s said something particularly amusing in his innocent, young boy sort of way. When the council members join in, Arthur’s jaw clenches.  
  
“Arthur,” Agravaine speaks as if patronizing a child. “You of all people know that the law demands this boy’s life. Your father –”  
  
“Perhaps my father was wrong!” Arthur cuts Agravaine off. He continues despite the growing look of outrage on Agravaine’s face. “There is no justice in killing a man who saved my life. He _saved my life_ , Uncle. More than once. He _will not_ be punished for it.”  
  
Agravaine makes a face like he’s going to argue with him, to reason with him; as if the words he speaks are the only truth and Arthur only refuses to see the light. Arthur cuts him off before he even starts.  
  
“My father’s laws are not my own. If I am to rule over this kingdom, then I will make _such_ a kingdom, which sees every man honored for their good deeds and punished for their evils. Magic or otherwise. That is my word. I am the King of Camelot and _that_ is my word.”  
  
Arthur’s tone holds such steel that the councilmen back down immediately. Agravaine looks to contest him, but seeing he’s outnumbered, quickly kills whatever protests he had. Arthur counts it as the first victory of many.  
  


~``~

  
  
Of course it isn’t as easy as that; it never is. In reality, it takes Arthur weeks to bring everyone—the council, his advisors, the nobility who think their opinion is worth a damn—to see his side of things. It’s a very trying month, blanketed by the cold of winter and shadowed with the dwindling food stores. Arthur laments that the timing really could have been better.  
  
Merlin had woken up that night after they’d gotten back. Arthur had been standing vigil by his window when Merlin had gasped awake, brow dotted with sweat and eyes glazed over. They hadn’t really talked that night, but almost every night after. Well, mostly it was Arthur doing the talking. He told Merlin about his plans to lift the bans on magic. Merlin had listened silently, nodding now and then, and when Arthur had finished he’d given his King the most gut-wrenchingly happy smile Arthur had ever seen and hugged him tight. Arthur had clutched him back, not replying to the soft _Thank you_ whispered brokenly into his neck.  
  
There had also been, at length, a somewhat embarrassing talk about their… feelings. Arthur simultaneously shudders and smiles a dopey smile when he thinks of _that_ particular conversation.  
  
( _So, when exactly, were you going to tell me that you love me? That you would do anything for me? That you’d move mountains, rearrange stars, alter time itself –”  
  
“Shut up, Merlin.”  
  
Merlin smirked back at him. He stuck his tongue out at him, the tease, and plopped himself down next to Arthur where he lounged on his bed. Arthur rolled his eyes and looped an arm around his friend. “Come here. Idiot.”  
  
He embraced Merlin close to his chest, feeling the large grin growing on Merlin’s face. “Prat.”  
  
Unbidden, a matching smile lit his own face. The smile grew wider as Merlin muttered, “I love you too.”_  
  
They leaned back against Arthur’s headboard, enjoying the closeness and breathing in each other’s space for another few minutes before having to return to the real world again.)  
  
Now, a month later, Merlin is mostly healed up and attempting to return to his manservant duties. Arthur’s told him for days now, not to stress his side; he doesn’t need Merlin’s wound re-opening on them. Merlin just waves him off and calls him a mother hen. Arthur enters his chambers, hot and sweaty from training despite the blistering cold outside. He resists the urge to roll his eyes as he sees Merlin on his knees, backside wriggling as the warlock tries to light the fire.  
  
“Can’t you just use your magic to light that Merlin? Or are you incompetent in _that_ as well?”  
  
An indignant huff comes from the fireplace and Merlin’s voice filters out. “I’ll have you know, _Sire_ , that the majority of fires you have asked me to light over the years have _only_ lit due to my magic,” With a groan, Merlin sits back on his heels to stretch. He looks over his shoulder at Arthur with a cheeky look. “Including some of the ones you tried to light yourself.”  
  
Arthur does give in to his urge to roll his eyes this time, but refrains from retorting back. Instead, he motions to himself. “Help me out of this rubbish would you? I don’t relish being stuck to it.”  
  
Merlin huffs a laugh, but helps him out of his armor. They fall into an easy silence. As Merlin gets him down to his chainmail, his eyes start to get a little shifty. Arthur remains quiet, knowing that if it’s important then Merlin will bring it up eventually. He finally does.  
  
“The servants are all talking you know. About Agravaine.”  
  
Ah yes, his distempered uncle. Arthur should have known. Arthur nods, not really adding to the conversation, just acknowledging Merlin. Merlin continues.  
  
“So it’s true then? Agravaine is leaving Camelot?”  
  
Merlin finishes divesting Arthur of his training wear and lays it carefully on the table for polishing later. With and flick of Arthur’s head, they’re both moving to the bed; Arthur laid back stretching out his aching muscles, Merlin perched next to him. Automatically, Merlin’s hands shoot out to start rubbing the soreness from Arthur’s calf muscles. Arthur lets out a small groan, allowing his eyes to slide shut.  
  
“Hm. Yes, he’s leaving. We don’t exactly see eye to eye anymore and it’s difficult to get anything done when he tries to hedge me off at every turn. We had a talk and agreed it would probably be in his best interest to head back to Tintagel.”  
  
Merlin hums thoughtfully. His hands move gradually higher on Arthur’s legs, rubbing and massaging the ache out his muscles. Arthur pops open one eye to peer down at Merlin. Merlin stops his motions, meeting his gaze.  
  
“What?” Merlin’s expression looks innocent. Too innocent.  
  
“Keep that up and we’ll have something else for you to rub.”  
  
“Oh really?” Merlin smirks and goes back to running his hands along Arthur’s thighs. The cheeky bugger. Arthur narrows his eyes at him and the next thing Merlin knows he’s being hauled up and snogged within an inch of his life. Merlin huffs a laugh against Arthur’s lips, but settles into the kiss, returning it with equal fervor.  
  
Arthur’s hands trail over his lover’s back, pulling at the loose tunic on the way up. He pulls back, panting lightly and says, “This. Off.”  
  
Merlin grins and leans back to shuck the fabric off and toss it to the floor. Arthur plucks impatiently at the ties on Merlin’s trousers while Merlin attempts to do the same to Arthur’s. They waste no time in divesting each other of the rest of their clothes and are soon pressed against each other, skin sliding together.  
  
Arthur brackets Merlin’s face with two large hands and brings him down for another bone-melting kiss. Merlin keens, unable to stop running his hands all over Arthur, everywhere he can reach. It was something Arthur had marveled at when they’d first done this, something he still marvels to be honest. Merlin is such a tactile, forward lover. It’s just so _Merlin_.  
  
They break apart again, breathing in each other’s air, heating the space between them. Merlin leans back, his arse coming into contact with Arthur’s stiff cock and smirks. He gives a cheeky little shimmy of his hips.  
  
“Is this for me?”  
  
Arthur groans as Merlin gives another little thrust for emphasis. “You know it is.”  
  
“Hmm. That so?” Merlin’s blunt nails scratch slowly—painfully slowly—down Arthur’s chest and he has to fight not to buck Merlin off and rut into him like an animal. “Guess I should do something about that, yeah?”  
  
“Yes. Yes, you should.” And damned if Merlin doesn’t love it when Arthur gets a bit needy and desperate. With a hastily whispered word, a vial of oil is drifting from somewhere and Merlin doesn’t really care where, because it’s in his hand the next second and he wastes absolutely no time wetting his fingers with and stretching himself open. All the while Arthur looks on with a hungry expression and clenched hands on Merlin’s hips.  
  
Impatient, Merlin wrenches his fingers from himself and shifts backwards. Using one hand to hold steady and the other to hold Arthur’s cock, Merlin impales himself onto Arthur as quickly as his body will allow. They both groan at the sensation of Arthur filling Merlin.  
  
Arthur’s hips twitch upwards but he allows Merlin a few moments to get used to the feeling. Merlin’s head is thrown back and he’s breathing hard, but then he looks down at Arthur and nods ever so slightly. That’s all the signal he needs before he’s grasping Merlin by the hips and thrusting up into him. Merlin moans Arthur’s name, rocking forward to meet his thrusts.  
  
Arthur releases one of his hands and brings it to Merlin’s cock. It’s leaking pre-come and flushed deep, deep red and hard as steel. He can feel Merlin’s ball inching up on every punching thrust Arthur makes into his body, Merlin’s going to come soon. Desperate to match him, Arthur speeds up his thrusting.  
  
“You going to come for me Merlin? Hm, you going to come all over my chest sweetheart?”  
  
Merlin keens, hips bucking erratically. “Yes, yes,” he chants, eyes squeezing shut. Then he’s coming and coming, body drawn tight as his cock jerks, spilling his seed in hot sticky ropes across Arthur’s chest and belly, and his arse clenching tight on Arthur’s cock. With a last heaving groan, Arthur buries himself in Merlin as deep as he can go and he’s falling over the edge too.  
  
Then Merlin’s body goes lax and he’s slumping forward onto Arthur’s chest, Arthur’s softening cock still wedged inside of him. It’s both uncomfortable and supremely arousing that he’s still inside of Merlin like that, so he doesn’t move. Their breathing slowly returns to normal and every now and then Merlin’s hole will twitch around him, sending a spark of arousal up his spine. His cock tries valiantly to stiffen again, but he’s too exhausted from training and eventually he slips quietly from Merlin and they both calm, surrounded by warmth and each other. Merlin snuggles into Arthur’s chest, nosing at his neck—his favorite place to be.  
  
Merlin’s voice drifts up quietly; he’s half asleep already. “We’re gonna be okay, right? This. You and me. Albion. We’re gonna be fine, yeah?”  
  
Arthur breaths in deep, inhaling the smell of sex and sweat and the heady scent of Merlin. He burrows his nose into the dark locks he loves to run his hands through.  
  
“Yeah. I think we just might be.”


End file.
